Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Ode to Molly
Stanley tries
to interest his
kids in his
website on
sunflower
oilseed
production.
Doris tells
Natalie just how
her family is
dysfunctional.
Ten-year old
math whiz
Tyler
helps sister
Josie, and her
boyfriend, Brad,
with homework.
Natalie is afraid
of clowns.
Tom-boy Alex
finally decides
Josie might be
able to help her
look more like a
girl.
Natalie shows
off her new
outfit she
purchased
during the "girls'
day out."
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Eating My Chocolate Caveats
It first started several years ago when my daughter and I decided we would not eat chocolate for a month before our family vacation to That initial ban started a trend that expanded to include not only the pre-vacation restriction, but also no chocolate for a month before running a marathon. Then, somehow, for me, at least, the injunction grew into “no chocolate” at all—ever. Not even a chocolate chip when making cookies.
I suppose it was a control issue. Sometimes I lacked self-control when it came to eating chocolate, so it seemed easier to never eat it than it was to limit myself to reasonable amounts. I went several months without ingesting even a solitary cocoa puff or sip of hot chocolate. What freedom I felt—I was no longer a slave to the cocoa bean!
Yet, I didn’t really want to give it up entirely forever. So I began allowing myself to eat chocolate during the Christmas holidays. A couple of weeks during the year should be OK, right? Then it only seemed logical that my birthday should be a “chocolate permissable” day. And certainly Valentine’s Day should not be excluded.
When disbelieving friends and acquaintances asked incredulously, “You don’t eat chocolate?”, I had to be truthful and qualify my response. “No. Well…except at Christmas….and on vacations. Oh, and on my birthday, and…yeah, well…of course on Valentines’ Day too”, and soon the lengthy accumulation of caveats sounded a bit silly to me. My husband constantly quipped, “No, she doesn’t eat chocolate…except on days of the week that end in the letter “Y.”” Obviously he did not appreciate or respect the sacrifice and discipline involved in restraining myself on the non-chocolate days.
It is akin to the sacrifice and discipline I muster to train for, and run a marathon. Undeniably, such sacrifice deserves a reward, so I began celebrating each marathon completion with peanut M&M’s. An ENTIRE BAG of peanut M&M’s. A 16, and sometimes 24 oz. bag of peanut M&M’s.
This year on Mother’s Day, while eating the chocolate truffles my son gave me (yes, Mother’s Day is now approved for chocolate), I noticed a line of script on the bag. “Do you dream in chocolate?” Well, I wasn’t sure if I dreamed in chocolate, but maybe I dreamed OF chocolate. Of eating it.
Perhaps that dreaming is what has caused me to cross over to the dark (and I do prefer dark chocolate) side lately. I confess--I have eaten chocolate on non-choc days. After the final class of the session at work last week, a class member offered me a tempting goo-goo cluster. Formerly I would have said, “No, I don’t eat chocolate. Well…except at Christmas….and on vacations. Oh, and on my birthday, and…yeah, well…of course on Valentines’ Day too…and Mother’s Day, and after every marathon….” That sounds ridiculous. I DO eat chocolate. So I accepted the chocolate and ate it. And a couple of days ago, I had a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Just because.
I don't think that will happen. I feel I'm aligning my true choco-osophy with my actual behavior. Exercising my freedom to choose is exhilarating. I don’t have to eat it, and I don’t need to eat it, but I will choose to eat it…occasionally. I will still limit the amount I eat, but it won't be as artificially proscribed.
So pass me the peanut M&M's. Even if I haven't just completed a marathon, or a long run, any day that ends in a "Y" is acceptable for eating a little chocolate.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Feelin' Stronger Every Day
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Cracks in The Code
The movie was undoubtedly intended to be the “masterpiece painting” version of the book, but there are some cracks in the canvas. The movie seems to presuppose familiarity with the book, and probably cannot hang in a gallery on its own. If I had not read the book, I doubt I could have connected the motivation and significance of the characters with the action.
The movie, unlike the book, does not build in suspense and adventure to a dramatic climax. The action is splotchy, and does not flow seamlessly. The final scene revealing the grand secret seems almost to be an afterthought. The dialogue is often dry, like a mini history lecture. A few moments of light humor could help the movie’s pace and relieve the overly oppressive and somber tone. Indeed, the discomfiting footage of Silas and his self-flagellation and mutilation was excessive.
The chemistry between the main characters, Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu, is nonexistent. There is no edginess, no attraction, no competition, no brushstrokes of color—their interaction is perfunctorily flat and banal. The Langdon character epitomizes the stereotypical history professor—methodical, stodgy, and boring.
Despite the cracks, “The Da Vinci Code” is still art that can be appreciated. The film adequately paints the basic plot of the book, considering the time constraints of a movie. The sets and locations provide the appropriate ambience and mood. The hazy depictions of past history are notable and dramatic, although occasionally confusing. The technical animation of “The Last Supper” painting makes a visually fascinating and thought-provoking scene.
Certainly “The Da Vinci Code” fuels the fire already burning over the book’s controversial issues. Yet if unaffected entertainment is your goal, see Mission: Impossible III instead. It provides a lot of legitimate action, stunts, a simple, yet interesting plot, and Tom Cruise, who is a lot easier on the eyes than Tom Hanks. In fact, as each movie will probably have a long run at the box office, take time for both a fictionalized history lesson and some good entertainment.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
"You Had a Bad Day"
Smile first thing in the morning and get it over with.—WC Fields.
My friend Bella had a bad day earlier this week. Actually she confided that she’d been having a bad fortnight. (No, she didn’t actually say that, what she said was she’d had a bad two weeks, but I thought fortnight sounded more dismal.) I might have lamely proffered pithy platitudes that we all hear, often repeat, and usually believe. But I simply clucked my tongue and mumbled my sympathies and support.
A couple of days later, when my own day was not so terrific, I could better empathize with Bella. I began to muse on those aphorisms that we sometimes automatically suggest in a gloomy situation. Being in a somewhat nasty, cynical mood (Oh no, no! Not that…horrors!), I came up with some sarcastic responses to these platitudes. So Bella, this list is for both of us. You might want to consider using it should your bad fortnight continue.
Answers to Adages (Deliver with Attitude)
“Look on the bright side.”
“I would if I weren’t blinded by the baleful glare I’m giving you.”
“When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.”
“Why? It’s still sour.”
“Bloom where you are planted.”
“No thanks, I’m not particularly into noxious weeds.”
”Don’t think of the glass as half-empty. Think of it as half-full.”
“Right. Half-full…of BILE!”
“Put on a happy face.”
“I won’t do it. I’m afraid of clowns.”
I will never actually deliver these somewhat rude responses, although there is something selfishly satisfying about thinking them. I suppose if the above platitudes provoke us, it is because at that moment we are reluctant to admit that there really is something substantive to them. Their underlying messages focus on gaining perspective, and reconciling our behavior to it. During a trying time, it may be painful and difficult to look within ourselves for the answers to our predicaments.
I don’t think my friend Bella’s bad fortnight will continue. While we were talking, she told me she knew that what she needed was an attitude adjustment. I guess she realizes, as do I, that in the long run, a bad day, (or a fortnight) like pain, is inevitable, but misery is always optional.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Mothers Matter
It doesn’t matter if your mother is a civil engineer or a domestic engineer, or if her pay is a million dollars or a million hugs, or if she makes presentations, or makes presents.
It doesn’t matter if she can play the piano or play racquetball, or if she is a computer wiz or knows the best recipes for Cheese Whiz.
What does matter is if your mother is kind, compassionate, understanding, and generous.
It does matter if your mother does her very best with the skills she has to help you grow and progress in ways that build your character and self-esteem.
It does matter if you know she loves you because of the things she says and the things she does.
That’s the kind of mother I had, and in the long run, it has made all the difference.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Doors and Windows
There’s good news and bad news. Bad news first. I won’t be running in the marathon for which I registered. Unbelievably, I was one of the 23% randomly NOT picked. My son, who had also hoped to run the race, did not make the lottery cut either. We’ve been commiserating over the disappointing news, and feeling a bit glum.
But wait. The good news. I found a door for the play! It doesn’t have a doorjamb, and it’s covered with graffiti from a previous production, but paint works wonders. It’s a door that opens and closes, and that’s all it needs to do. I stressed uselessly over that door for days, so I am very much relieved! Opening night is just a couple of weeks away.
I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” Regrettably, my marathon door closed, and I won’t be running in St. George this fall. But instead of a mere window opening for me elsewhere, I got a whole door! It was just what I wanted and needed for the play. And as far as the marathon, I’m hopeful a window of opportunity will open for me soon in some other long run.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Catty Grin Tin Tie
A prize was not my objective—I don’t even know what the winners receive, although I’m sure there must be the usual tantalizing lures of a foreign adventure, or at least a big screen plasma TV. For me, the hook was the smug satisfaction of feeling canny and clever as I completed the puzzles, which incorporate logic, geography, chess, movie clues, and of course, information searches on Google. They were easy enough at first, and the more puzzles I solved, the more confident and pleased with myself I became. Even though the hour was late, I felt compelled to tackle the next challenge. I was addicted.
So imagine my dismay when I became stuck on an observation puzzle, when I was not even half-way through the quest. Impossible! My shrewd discernment proved useless as I vainly tried to distinguish in the dark shadows of a movie trailer exactly what Silas was holding, or reaching for, or dropping…or…what was he doing?! I needed that answer to complete the puzzle, and I became edgy because I couldn’t figure it out. I replayed the video over and over, scanning for the slightest clue. It rankled me that I couldn’t comprehend the Silas video, but I decided to move on. I completed more puzzles, but I kept stewing about the one that stumped me. I reset the Silas puzzle. And then I began to rationalize.
“This is Google’s competition, so quite naturally the organizers would expect, no…WANT…me to use their search engine during their game. Just like I did for some of the previous puzzles.” With a few more lame excuses and justifications, I talked myself into it. I googled “Da Vinci Code Quest answers”.
You can find just about anything you’re looking for on Google, and it didn’t take long, .06 seconds as a matter of fact, to find more than one website that appeared to have the answers. My reaction, instead of one of glee, was of curiously ambivalent aversion. My dishonorable intentions were disdainful. Yet, my finger twitched on my mouse, eager to click and reveal the elusive answer. How shameful it would be to peek. But so irritating to stay stymied.
What did I do?! Finding the answer is YOUR quest. It’s included as an obvious anagram puzzle in this post. Solve it, and then email me your answer. The first five people with the correct answer will win a big screen plasma TV. OK, forget the prizes. I’m sure perspicacious people like you don’t need that kind of persuasion.
Hint: Find the answer in a long run of nonsensical words.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
CPUs in Need of CPR
I’ve nursed my old, ailing Gateway computer long enough. I am too impatient to put up with its unpredictability and incredible lethargy any longer. I’m irritated by its puny hard drive, and I’m fed up with its episodes of freezing. And I’m tired of waiting at least a full minute while it decides if it will really open a simple e-mail or load a web page. I’ve sweet-talked it, cursed it, and tried techno-bandaids to no avail. It’s time…yes, it’s time for it to go to that shameful, secret place behind the closed doors of the guest bedroom—the computer graveyard.
I am a little embarrassed to admit to being the caretaker of the graveyard. There are three outdated computers, along with a couple of monitors and broken printers, several keyboards, and audio speakers piled up in the corner of the room, somewhat hidden behind a well-placed easy chair. I don’t want to casually toss it all in the trash—it seems so wasteful and environmentally unsound, and it’s probably illegal too. Besides, I have benevolent plans for the equipment: maybe I can donate it to a school or charity, or give it away at a garage sale, although I question whether anyone would really want the stuff.
But I have read that I need to take care of the hard drives first. Apparently I need to erase them and then reformat them with gibberish so that no evil villain can extract my valuable personal information and steal my identity, or blackmail me, or laugh maniacally at my inane email. My computer literacy is limited when it comes to projects like that, although I’ve vowed to figure out how to do it…sometime. In the meantime, I’ll probably give a 21-moo salute to my hapless Gateway, then abashedly bury it in the back bedroom. There, in the lonely computer graveyard, it will become the latest in a long run of discarded and undisturbed computer remains.
